Barb Caffrey's Blog

Folks, this is a hard blog to write.

When I was young, my mother went up to a young catcher, Charlie Moore, and told him how much he’d meant to me and that I just loved his play. I was too shy to go up to tell him myself, you see…I was at that gawky stage, and I just didn’t want to be seen or talked to. (Yes, even me.)

Charlie was classy, and he had a sense of humor. He clearly saw me, hiding behind my mother, but he said, “I hope she’s legal.”

I laughed, but still didn’t come out from behind my mother.

Anyway, he ended up signing my baseball card, he signed a glove for me, and he signed a t-shirt. I wish I had all three of those things now. (The glove got lost during an early move. The baseball card was inadvertently sold, put in with a bunch of cards into a rummage sale by someone who wasn’t me — not sure which family did this, but I know my mother apologized for it when she realized. The t-shirt, I outgrew, but kept for at least fifteen years. Where it went after that, I don’t know.)

Charlie was the type of guy who would do anything for anyone, and as a player he just exemplified the term “unselfish.” One year, they’d traded for Ted Simmons, a future Hall of Famer, at catcher. Charlie knew he couldn’t compete with Simmons; no one could. While he talked with Simmons about the pitchers and who liked to throw what when (Bob Uecker, announcer extraordinaire and also a former catcher, did this as well), Charlie knew he’d better learn a new position to stay on the team.

He did.

It wasn’t easy for him, but he learned how to play the outfield in spring training (this was either 1980 or 1981). He became one of the best right fielders in baseball, because he knew how to position himself from all the catching he’d done, and his arm was quite strong.

Many people, with their condolences to the Milwaukee Brewers on their Facebook page, have mentioned the most famous play Charlie ever made, that being throwing out Reggie Jackson in Game 5 of the American League Championship Series (ALCS) at third base from right field. (It wasn’t shallow right, either.) Jackson thought he could take an extra base on Charlie, and Charlie wasn’t having it.

The first things I thought of, though, were when he hit for the cycle in 1980 (that’s when you hit a single, double, triple, and homer, all in the same game) and also stole two bases, and when he broke up a no-hit bid by Nolan Ryan, hitting a triple.

See, Charlie was just a lot faster than most catchers. (He hadn’t taken up the outfield, then.)

With his characteristic wit, Charlie said once that he’d not have been able to learn the outfield in today’s day and age, not with YouTube. He’d have been too embarrassed to try.

I find that hard to believe, because Charlie was just the type of guy who’d do whatever was needed. You needed him to catch? He caught. You needed him to play right field? He played right field. Whatever he needed to do, he did.

Ted Simmons once said of Charlie that Charlie was “the best guess hitter I ever saw. Others might hit a single. He’d hit a homer.”

All in all, Charlie Moore was the full package. He could run, hit, throw, take an extra base, used his intelligence to keep him relevant in the baseball world by changing positions, and was a kind-hearted man to boot.

Other tributes that came in on the Milwaukee Brewers official Facebook page pointed out times Charlie helped someone, either by staying extra time to sign autographs, by bringing them something that the fan had won in a contest (bringing it to their home, mind you, without fanfare and without attitude), and so on.

All I can say is this: When I was young, if I could have had a boyfriend, Charlie Moore would’ve been it. I’m proud that I have always seen Charlie Moore as the best Brewers unsung hero, as my absolute all-time favorite player because of his grittiness and heart, and I still remember the banners my mother and I made to put in the bleachers once:

They said, “We want Moore of Charlie.”

Amen.